My mind drifted in class too many times during the week to count and I found myself only snapping back to reality when the school bell rang at the end of the day.

Today, as I have every other day of this week, I feel an immense amount of relief when it finally rings and everyone files out of the classroom, stampeding down the halls and out the doors. I'm nearly shoved into the side of a locker as I go, but I don't care, or even think of speaking up. I never speak up.

When I finally get outside, my eyes pan the parking lot until they land on Gerard's car. Tightening the straps on my backpack, I set off in his direction. Through the windshield, I see he's staring down at his phone while he waits for me.

"Hey, Eve." He smiles at me, putting down his phone as soon as I open the car door.

"Hey, Dad."

"How was school?"

I sling my backpack off my shoulders and throw it in the backseat. "Fine."

I shut the car door and Gee wastes no time in leaving the parking lot, going in the direction of Sam's office. It's Thursday, the day I've been waiting for impatiently all week since we received that letter. Every time my brain decides to remind me of it, which is all too often, it's like a stab to the chest.

"You sure?" he asks skeptically.

"Well," I exhale tiredly. "School was fine, same as always."

"Okay, never mind school. How are you really doing?"

How am I doing? He should know the answer to that question. He should know that I've been moping around the house for days, being more antisocial than usual, and generally not being myself. I shouldn't be acting this way, I know. Being faced with the prospect of returning to the care (if you can call it that) of my mother, should make me want to make the most of my current life. But I'm just wasting time being sad instead.

But rather than saying any of that out loud, I keep it simple. "I definitely have a lot to get off my chest with Sam today."

"Yeah," he breathes. "Hopefully that'll help you out."

Now that I think of it, none of us have been quite ourselves. Gee has seemed more stressed lately, and that's on top of the stress that might come from band stuff and his comic stuff, and he checks up on me more than usual. If that's even possible. Emerald has been pretty bummed out, too, which kills me because she's always the lively one, always looking on the bright side of things.

She holds my hand more tightly now when we walk down the hallway, as though she's really afraid of losing me.

When we arrive at our destination, Sam is ready for me, so I go right in. Her office has comfortable chairs, nothing like the hard plastic ones in the waiting room. I collapse into one of them, letting my body melt into the soft cushion.

"Rough day?" Sam asks, settling in her black chair across from me. She grabs her pen, and her clipboard clipboard from her desk and holds them in her lap.

"More like rough week."

She tilts her head with a look of concern. "What happened?"

The last time I saw her look that concerned was when I told her about what we call the Smoothie Incident. Which, granted, wasn't a very long time ago. That was also the first time I ever heard her use a curse word, for which she immediately apologized because it was unprofessional.

Obviously, I didn't really care.

"Well," I say slowly, tracing the semi-colon tattooed on the inside of Sam's wrist with my eyes, rather than looking into her's. "This weekend I found out that my mother wants me back in her life."

She nearly drops her pen. "Oh, dear."

"Yeah."

"Did she contact you directly?"

"No," I say, thinking that if she had I might've had an even bigger breakdown. "We got a letter saying we're going to court for a- a custody battle, or whatever."

"Well," Sam taps her pen on her clipboard, thinking. "From my perspective, based on what I know, she has n— a very slim chance of taking you back. She was unfit to be a mother and... let's say, lost custody of you on her own accord. That shouldn't be able to be taken back."

"Stop sugar coating it," I snap. "What she did was put me through hell for years, realize I was too much of an inconvenience, and left me outside a crappy orphanage and let them decide what to do with me."

"You're putting the blame on yourself by saying that she 'realized' you were an 'inconvenience'." Sam puts air quotes around a couple of her words. "But this realization you're talking about was never about you, but merely her realizing that she was unfit to parent you for various reasons. It was also the moment that allowed your life to change, eventually for the better."

"For the better? I went to—"

"I said eventually. Think about it, you would've never met Gerard— your dad— if she hadn't done... that."

"So you're saying when she comes to take me away I should thank her?"

Sam struggles to keep herself from rolling her eyes at me with a sigh. "No, Evelyn—"

"I should be like, 'Thanks, Mom, for getting tired of throwing beer bottles at me so I could leave you and struggle with the trauma of it all for the rest of my life! Real considerate of you!' right? And I'll ask her how this week's boyfriend is while I'm at at it? Maybe she'll offer to share her drugs with me—"

"Evelyn!" She finally cuts me off, using a much sharper tone than any I've ever heard come out of her mouth.

I knew I would have a lot to get off my chest, I just hoped I wouldn't cry. But now I realize it's all built up anger and resentment towards the woman I was supposed to call my mother. Not the kinds of feelings that make me choke up, but more the ones that make me want to yell and scream and maybe hit something, you know? I also realize that Sam has never heard me go off like this before, but we've never dealt with a situation like this one before, either.

I've had the occasional rant, sure, often when I'm complaining about bitches at school. The ones who give Emerald and I dirty looks in the hallways, or who think they're better than me because their family owns some fancy-ass house in France.

Okay, maybe most of my rants are about Charlotte.

But this, this is different. Still, no matter how badly I want to keep raising my voice, I bite my tongue long enough for Sam to go on.

"Listen, the court wouldn't have even considered giving her a chance to regain custody over you if she hadn't changed in her ways. I'm not saying she deserves forgiveness, or to take you back, or even that this situation is anything other than terrible and hard to deal with, but I don't want you to let this ruin your life right now."

"You don't want this to ruin my life?" I nearly stand up from my seat. "She took care of that years ago! I wouldn't even need therapy if it wasn't for her!"

"You also wouldn't have a life at all if it wasn't for her," Sam points out calmly.

"Maybe that would be a good thing." I say bluntly. I realize what I've said a moment too late, though, immediately wishing I could take the words back. I cover my mouth, my eyes widening. I stutter, "I- I mean— I didn't mean it like— I just—"

Sam scribbles something on her clipboard and I've never wanted to tear it from her grasp more than I do now. "Evelyn, if you're having suicidal thoughts, it's important that you tell me," she says in a low, serious voice.

"No- no, I'm not." I shake my head furiously. "I- I don't know why I said that."

"I'm afraid that that wouldn't have crossed your mind if there wasn't some truth behind it."

"I don't want to die!" I practically yell.

My words ring out and then the office is plunged into silence, other than Sam's pen scratching on that fucking clipboard.

Evelyn, you bitch.

I stay silent, just looking down at my hands as I wring them angrily in my lap. I don't even speak up when Sam tries to get me to talk again, and I let it go on for minutes. Mostly because I don't know what to say to redeem myself after that.

"Evelyn, look, let's just move on, okay?" Sam suggests.

"This session has sucked and I think I'm ready to leave." I finally say decidedly. Now, I really do stand up from my seat— it feels a lot less comfortable than it did when I arrived— and storm out of Sam's office. Just like that.

She doesn't even follow me or attempt to stop me.

Thankfully, the waiting room is empty other than Gerard when I stand, fuming, in the doorway. He looks up when I start tapping my foot impatiently.

"Done already?" he asks and checks his phone for the time. "You still have half a session left."

"Yeah, I know, but we're leaving now."

I walk toward the front exit and from behind me, I hear him say, "Wait, Eve—"

"Come on, Dad!" I snap. And at that, he follows me out the door.